The Green Tunic
by muertalas
Summary: His clothing had never meant much before the twilight had come. Then it meant everything. It drew the line between measly, unimportant person and courageous hero bent on saving the entire existence of the world. He never asked for this. Post-TP. One-shot.


**The Green Tunic**

He fingered the green fabric, letting his fingertips dance across the rough, worn cloth, wincing slightly when an unhealed cut or two touched the chainmail underneath. His feet barely touched the bustling river below, icy cold droplets reaching up and licking the callouses every once in a while; his leather boots had been thrown haphazardly next to him as he had rolled up his leggings. His blond hair brushed against his eyes, irritating them ever-so-slightly, and he shook his head as though a dog or a wolf or some other type of canine, striking blue eyes continuing to gaze at the tunic that continued to serve as his armor for such a long period of time.

Time was not real, though, not around him. Time stopped ticking away whenever he was near.

The sounds of the forest filled his ears as the winds of Farore gently played with the hoop earrings piercing each of his lobes. Birds tweeted far above him while various fish swam beneath him; his beloved horse neighed from somewhere behind him, though he did not turn to investigate why. The air's breath carried whispers of people and places far away, from kingdoms and high atop the mountains and other dimensions, the likes of which were much too impossible to even fathom. His shadow was caught red-handed by the gleaming sun above him, and the single thing that came to mind was the word "twilight."

His tunic met the grass beneath him, the light tint of the plants and the dark shade of the cloth contrasting somewhat against each other. His eyes refused to look away, and he felt as though he was sincerely losing control over his own body, much like the case had been before. Though, he was no longer an animal, covered in silver fur and walking on four legs, no. He was still human as ever, and yet he continuously refused to take even a glimpse of his own reflection for fear of a wolf or a shadow leering back at him.

Crystalline blue water pooled around his ankles as he lowered them more, blond head bowed, gaze unmoving and unblinking. Children's legends that had been fed to him spoonful by spoonful since before he had turned two circled his mind like vultures, blocking out all other comprehensive thought other than the stories of courageous heroes and horrid villains taking over a kingdom and kidnapping a beautiful and knowledgeable princess. The fairy tales of each of the god-like spirits that protected the lands – many of which he had assisted, himself – and proclaiming that he was to become one of those very same heroes filled him with emotion and he bit back a strangled mix of a laugh and a sob.

His garb had not meant anything to him until the twilight first set itself upon the land, changing his home's townspeople into spirits and animals into mutants and he into a "monster." And the not-night brought with it true terror that the myths did not entail, and he had found himself both captivated and truly frightened by it, reduced to a small, whimpering baby in his own mind. Then his clothes meant everything; it proved that he had become a hero, according to one of the guardians of his home, of the land.

The green tunic told the world that he was strong, that he was brave, that he was a hero.

Not even a month before his own epic had begun to be woven, he had been called nothing but a mere farm boy. And now a masterfully crafted sword and shield lay next to his boots, the title of a hero pressing against his shoulders with such a force that his spine ached and threatened to crumble under the pressure while the clocks unmercifully tick-tick-ticked away.

His cracked fingers continued in the attempt to smooth out the worn away tunic, the blood droplets seeping out ever-so-slightly beginning to stain the cloth and so he let go in a flash. He stared, mouth slightly agape at the globules of red, red, red peering out of the harsh crevices in his skin. He had only ever seen it pour out of enemies like hard liquor from a bar tap; never before had he seen blood from himself.

Right then and there, he was not what he was supposed to be. No longer was he bound by the hooks that had been labeled as the responsibility of all of the land; no longer was he forced to wear the chains that had imprisoned him a year previously; no longer did he have to ignore his heartaches and nightmares. The dark green tunic and floppy hat that he wore had become invisible and he was going back in time to when he would practice relentlessly on his horse in the hopes of one day being recognized for something extraordinary.

He had gotten his wish.

Flower petals cascaded down upon him and the river indiscriminately, blues and pinks mixing with the crimson and freshwater blue. A striped cat sidled up to him, rubbing its body against his hip, purring, and he smiled despite himself. He wiped his bleeding fingers on his leggings and lifted the cat onto his lap where it curled up and stared at him, bottlegreen eyes wide and blank as though awaiting for him to start a conversation.

He only stroked its head without a word, humming a tune.

Its ears perked up, mewing loudly in response, its purring growing in volume. The hero's smile grew wider, toes skating within the water as he welcomed the sudden change in mental subject. The screams of dying enemies had been toned down, somewhat drowned out by the cat. His hand continued to scratch the top of the animal's head as he looked down the river where the local kids were fishing, their chores done and their stomachs growling.

And the water momentarily turned to pure ice.

He blinked and it was gone, the high-pitched laughs of the children mixing in with the purring and the rushing of the river. He could have sworn that he had seen bright blue underneath the fake ice, large black eyes looking up at him, painful and scathing.

A fish nipped at his toes, jolting him out of his trance while he absentmindedly pet the cat still curled up in his lap. He lifted his feet out of the water with extreme caution, moving back carefully so as to not disturb the creature and stretching out on the grass. He leaned back, smiling once more when the cat adjusted itself, closing its eyes and going back to its nap. His heart was swelling in a way that it had never done so before, and he knew then that the nightmares would never cease. The fears would never be vanquished and the memories and longings would never be quelled.

And yet, he was still the hero, regardless of his personal feelings. He was trapped in the corner, and he had a decision: Go along with his own destiny and continue to wear his green tunic with pride or fight it and die unhappy. He swept away a stray lock of blond hair, exhaling slowly.

The sun gazed at him, peeping out from behind a patch of clouds and tinting the bright blue sky with gold. He cupped the back of his head with his hands, looking up at the heavens and sighing; a pinprick of the green tunic could be seen out of his peripheral vision.

The land stopped, the wind stopped, the laughter stopped, the water stopped, the cat stopped, his heartbeat stopped, _he_ stopped–

And time continued ticking away.


End file.
